


The Pirate's Daughter Escapes!

by hornblowerfic_archivist



Series: The Pirate's Daughter [2]
Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Action/Adventure, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Graphic Sex, Humor, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-16
Updated: 2009-07-16
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:22:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6125833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornblowerfic_archivist/pseuds/hornblowerfic_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Dreadnought Foster aids in Troy's escape from a Spanish-style execution and shows her the meaning of stamina in His Majesty's Navy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pirate's Daughter Escapes!

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hornblowerfic.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hornblowerfic.com). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Hornblowerfic.com collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hornblowerfic/profile).

A thin, brackish breeze skimmed over the water and mildly played against Troy’s wind and sun roughened cheeks. The gentle zephyr ruffled her short hair slightly, blowing her mousy brown locks against her shoulders; she could feel it through the thin cloth of the plain gown she wore. The harsh rasp of the twine that bound her wrists behind her back wore at her skin, leaving it raw as she impatiently moved her arms and, around her neck, the noose chafed her tanned flesh, itching, irritating it to a nettled red. She was becoming quite vexed.

“Señor,” she called, catching the attention of the expeditionary colony’s governor. “¿Señor, cuál es el soporte? This is getting a mite bloody uncomfortable! Let’s get a move on, sí?”

Where the fuck was he? She hadn’t started to sweat--yet--but if he didn’t get a move on, the situation might become...unpleasant.

The man looked at her with pure contempt, his long features turning to a sneer as his brown eyes danced with wicked glee, the small brown monkey perched upon his shoulder chattering in agitation and responded positively when Troy made a clicking sound with her tongue which only seemed to infuriate the Spaniard further. The governor’s silver and white hair moved in the light wind despite the military headgear upon his head, his long, ragged queue waving against his uniform jacket. She knew how much he was enjoying this; she'd make him suffer for that. A small crowd had gathered, some hesitant, others with downright disdain in their glares; some even cheered as he replied in broken English, "Capitán Troy would like this to happen quickly, sí?"

"I've always been kinda...impatient that way," she answered, as cool as if he were standing in her place. Her gaze remained steadily a-fore though she sneaked a peek out of the corner of her eye towards the Elizabeth Alleyn, sitting in the bay, looking forlornly absent of her mistress as it served temporarily as a hulk, a floating prison for her crew. She thought she could see Mr. Welles' tattooed face watching her, his ready hands curling into fists. Anticipation threatened to seize her but she fought it off with grim determination. The smell from the iron gibbets that hung at the quay, the moldering bodies of executed criminals, took hold of her stomach and she forced herself to breath through her mouth before she retched.

"¡La mujer hará pis ella misma como ella estira!" he called to the crowd and another call of approval rose, this time with the definite tincture of bloodlust. "I tell them," he grinned morbidly as he turned to her, revealing quite a few yellowing and missing teeth. Governor Sanito's breath smelled heavily of rum--most likely from the Elizabeth's stores, she thought bitterly--and he swayed noticeably where he stood. Amateur, she scoffed inwardly; she'd been imperiled by better men than him. "I tell them, Capitán Troy, that you will peess yourself as you 'ang."

"Now that just ain't gentlemanly!" she protested, trying to sound offended. "Try this one out for size: ¡Bese mi extremo blanco pasty del inglés, usted manojo despreciable de monos españoles innatos! And, in case my Espanola is a bit rusty, I'll translate as best I can: Kiss my pasty white English arse, you repugnant bunch of inbred Dago monkeys!" She spat at his feet; he shuffled his boots away right before the moisture hit the ground beside them, growling in his anger.

Trembling with rage, he sputtered as if he sought the perfect insult to return and could not find it. Finally, he was able to make his mouth work, calling out for the hangman to do his job. This would be disagreeable. She stood only two feet from the gallows upon a stool with only a foot of slack rope for her when her footing was finally removed from under her. It meant that there was no chance for a clean break of the neck but rather she would struggle and flail as she slowly suffocated. At least it would grant her more time; where the bloody hell was he? Waiting till the last moment to rush in heroically, was he? Bastard.

All right, so strictly speaking, this could be reasonably construed as being her fault: she'd seen the supply ship heading from port, nice and fat with provisions and couldn't resist the idea of a fresh measure of tropic rum as well as whatever other riches she might have been carrying. She was, after all, a privateer; she owed it to King and Country, didn't she? She didn't need an escort, a nursemaid except...where the hell was he?

As if on cue, the soft, prolonged whine of the discharge of heavy artillery cut through the tropical humidity. Everything seemed to stop as if time itself had slowed until the moment the cannon shot plowed through the closest building. Citizens scattered like splinters, yelling, dismayed by the thundering explosion; Sanito momentarily forgot Troy as he called ineffectively for order, giving her time to willingly garotte herself as she lifted her legs and pulled her bound arms around her legs, over her feet, past her knees to her front.

She took a deep, gasping breath as she set herself down on the stool again, now able to artfully manage the removal of the ropes around her wrists. The cord fell away just in time: seeing her wiggle free, the hangman rushed to propel the seat from below her. She caught the noose at the last moment, pulling herself up and delivering a hearty blow to the man's groin. Groaning, he rolled off to her side, clutching his balls desperately.

"Adiós, Jack Ketch," she laughed.

"This is not happening, this is not happening," Sanito kept repeating, as if he could only say it enough times, it would be true. Down by the docks, soldiers were shouting that the English were coming ashore; Sanito felt as if he were in the middle of a massively distressing nightmare, and all over that one little slut! With a snarl, he turned to her, rushing at her as he reached for his pistol. He was too late.

She was waiting for him, swinging herself around to bump him in the back, propelling him forward as her hands deftly put the hangman's halter around his neck. Only inches separated his boots from the gallows, the toes of his boots scraping barely at the wood. His eyes bulged from their sockets, his fingers clawing desperately at the rope as he watched Troy watching him sedately. Minutes passed and, finally, his body stilled, the life draining from him. "En muerte, el gobernador, encuentra la salvación." She gave his dangling form a playful spin. "En inglés: eat shite and die, you filthy pig!"

As she ran towards the jetty, she grabbed a Spanish soldier by the wrist, twisting so that she stood behind him holding his sword hand in front of him. She raised it to his neck and gave him a crimson grin from ear to ear with the blade, quickly discarding his limp corpse and running the next assailing guard through.

"What took you so rutting long, you big sod?" she called out as a robust officer in British naval livery, obviously the leader of the charge, jumped up onto the wharf, firing his pistol and disposing of a Spaniard as he did so. He wasn't particularly tall though his presence was colossally imposing, menacing even as he smiled in simple delight at the carnage he saw before him. Captain Roger "Dreadnought" Foster of the HMS Dreadnought--he carried a reputation almost as shameless as her own. "You were supposed to be right behind me," Troy continued as she ducked, allowing the newcomer to shoot a combatant hurtling himself towards her back. "I had to improvise up there!"

"We were behind you, madam," he responded in a clip Scottish brogue, "until you decided to pursue that freighter."

"More like you spotted a nice, fat prize ship to chase after," she answered tartly. "Honestly, Foster, sometimes I think you're crazier than I am and that is an alarming thought!" He laughed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Foster snapped, grabbing her forearm as, after a complete but rapid survey of the engagement, surmising that it was going in their favor. The Alleyn had already been liberated, and her first priority having been accomplished, Troy turned and began to head back towards the town. "Even I'm not *that* crazy!"

"The booty, I need to get the swag!" she declared through clenched teeth, pulling at his tight grip. "I"m not leaving the Alleyn's haul behind!" She saluted the men suspended in the gibbets in their various states of decomposition gallantly and started again towards the buildings. Again, he took hold of her; she was becoming truly peevish about this whole situation.

"Come to your senses woman! No plunder is worth this!"

"Ever wanted to be a duke?" she inquired coyly. He cocked a bushy eyebrow, black with streaks of silver; she knew she had gotten his attention. "Ever wanted to *buy* a duke?"

He considered this for a moment and then told her to go and be quick about it. He ordered a handful of his men, at least half the lunatic Troy was, to accompany her and the pirate's daughter smirked, informing him there was no way that the small band could carry the *entire* treasure back to the Alleyn and the Dreadnought. With a lusty laugh, he assigned to her a sizable and zealous host, continuing to cut down the Dagos as they came at him.

Almost as an afterthought, she knuckled her forehead. "In the name of His Majesty, the King, naturally. God save the King!"

"Naturally," the captain of the Dreadnought echoed with a grin. "God save the King indeed."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mr. Welles held the large wooden cask of rum easily upon his muscular shoulder as the amber liquid poured blessedly and freely from the keg's cork-spout. The night air was sweet with the free flowing spirits, the sky a perfect velvet tapestry interwoven with glittering gemstones of stars and the large, pregnant eye of the silver moon. Aboard the Elizabeth Alleyn, the men sang as bawdily as they did loudly, slurring a few words here and there as they raised their tankards in celebration. A sailor sang true and clear:

_"Down south, the weston way from here,"_  
_Our daring cap'n met o'hundred craft of fearless Dago whips;_  
_Little did the Spaniards know although they thought it queer,_  
_Their rival was nought but a girl,_  
_Who ran them a whorl,_  
_For Troy gave chase,_  
_She was the face_  
_That sank o'thousand ships!"_

The rest of the crew joined in the chorus, intoxicated but enthusiastic nonetheless, _"Too-ra-loo, too-ra-lay, too-ra-lo-ra-loo Ra-lay! And the cap'n sank a o'thousand ships, singin' too-ra-loo-ra-lay!"_

Another drunken salt joined in:

_"Now, Cap'n Alleyn she as hard as nails,_  
_A-feared of nought, the Dagos knew she must be bold as brass,_  
_When directly for 'em she ordered to set sail;_  
_The Spanish commander of the fleet,_  
_He turned whiter than a sheet,_  
_Once she hiked up her skirts_  
_And showed those dirts_  
_Her li'l English ass!"_

Ribald laughter and hoots and hollers of approval followed along with the chorus, _"Too-ra-loo, too-ra-lay, too-ra-lo-ra-loo Ra-lay! And the cap'n showed 'em her English arse, singin' too-ra-loo-ra-lay!"_

Inside the captain's private cabin aboard the Dreadnought, Troy chuckled, staring up at the fairly embellish moulding that lay on the ceiling above the feather-mattress draped berth, lying on her back upon the woolen blanket. The sailors' inebriated revelry could distinctly be heard coming through the open window and Troy was waving her finger in time with the strain, which had now been joined by a fiddle; many on the Dreadnought had fallen in melody with the privateers. " _That's_ my favorite verse," she declared, sighing contentedly.

A chittering drew her attention to the low beams of the ceiling and a small dark form jumped from its place amongst the overhead onto a nearby set of mahogany shelves and finally to the bed. Troy made repulsively cloying kissy noises at the monkey as it landed on the bedding. Captain Foster scoffed, taking a swig of his wine as he gazed out the window. "I wish you hadn't felt the need to bring that filthy thing along," he sniffed.

"*I* think he's sweet," Troy fluttered, getting to her feet rather unsteadily as the creature leaped up on her shoulder. "I've named him Horatio," she laughed, lifting a cutlass, its sharp silver blade shining in the soft light, and bringing it down mercilessly upon a banana whilst leaving a jolly unforgiving slash across the surface of the desk where the fruit had been lying. She gave the animal half of the banana which it gratefully accepted, chattering happily as it bounded away.

She refilled her tankard and took quite a larger swig than she'd intended, chuckling as it splashed down her chin and onto her shirt. Foster's eyes did not neglect the fact that he could see the dusky peaks of her nearly flat breasts tighten against the clinging fabric, rising into taut nubs in the tropic eventide air. "Here's to fine Spanish rum!" she raised her drinking vessel, slamming it down upon the desk. Again, she took her steel in hand and jabbed it into a sack, resting next to the davenport and ripped the rough fabric in a vertical line; objects the color of fresh corn with the shine of the harvest moon spilled out. "And to Spanish gold!" she declared.

"I'll drink to that," grinned Foster, spreading the loosed pieces across the floor around him with his foot. They flowed like a gilded river from their cloth container. "And to good company," he smiled smugly as he watched Troy once again take her place on his bed, his dark eyes drinking in the subtly feminine nuances of her supple body. His breeches were become rapidly altogether too binding and constrictive for comfort. He just might have to do something about that. Sweeping his hand into the tumble of gold, he grabbed a fistful of the glittering pieces and threw them upon her, onto the bed. She chuckled, allowing the coins to land on various parts of her body.

"Want to know something, Roger?" inquired Troy with mock innocence as she peered down at him over her torso, over the tips of her outstretched toes as she propped her head up, folding her arm behind her head. Foster's eyes were filled with mischief, such wonderful wickedness it almost made said toes curl at the sight of it. She picked up a gold circle, examined it as she rolled it through her fingers, pulling her shirt up and placing the flat object over her navel. "It's my birthday," she grinned.

Indeed he laughed lowly, deeply in his throat, his barrel chest. Oh, that did send a thrill down her spine. Unbracing his cuffs and collar, he strode to where she lay with wanton arrogance. "Happy birthday," he said brusquely, raising a bushy eyebrow as he slid smoothly onto the mattress beside her.

"Mmm," she remarked, restraining a flighty giggle as his strong, blunt hands encircled her waist and his mouth lowered to her flat stomach. She felt the heat of his lips tickled her flesh as he took the coin between them, rolling his tongue over the precious metal and spitting it aside so he might, unhindered, press the probing organ into her bellybutton. Her slender hands slid into his shirt, caressing his shoulders, the thick, wiry hair of his chest as he similarly removed the other pieces of Spanish currency from her person.

“Have you received your present then?” he queried, smirking.

“Not yet,” she bit her lip coyly.

His kiss returned to her bared belly, his teeth tugging at the buttons of her loose brown breeches; they came away under his influence and he followed the opening path of tanned skin downwards. His thick fingers eased the trousers down her narrow hips as he nuzzled his way to the fragrant thatch of russet curls modestly concealing her sex. She'd once considered shaving the damn thing clean, what with the heat and all, but carried nary a regret that she had not gone through with it as he slowly, ever so slowly nestled his mouth into the soft patch of hair. Dampness was replaced with a deluge of silken moisture as his burning breath caressed her, kissing those rosy lips before parting them and diving within their folds.

He supped on her nectar loudly in appreciation, lapping at her from stem to stern, the rugged pull of his hungry lips devouring the tender petals of the seat of her womanhood. She bucked convulsively as she felt the lead ball in her stomach bloom into a rush of warmth, supplying him with more honey on which to feast. She arched her back violently, closing her eyes as she cried aloud; her legs were rubber as she spread them further for his attentions. There was nothing but the mind-boggling blissful sensation of his mouth suckling, eating her away sumptuously. Delicious pressure began building within her belly, rising, rising, only waiting to burst.

Panting, she wriggled under him, proving to her that he was in control with his brawny embrace and she was helpless, vulnerable to each and every of his licentious desires. He found the bud within her bedewed rose and teased it luridly with the tip of his tongue, thrilling in each of her wordless pleas. She squirmed as he nipped at it, sucked the most precious of all treasures woman can possess. The pressure began to tingle, to become a heated entity writhing to be free. His tongue thrust inside of her, snaking as far as it would go into her satin sheath even as he ran the velvet muscle along her nymphaea. His mouth was expert, always knowing where to taste without feeling as if he were only going through the motions. No, he applied himself to the task with feverous gusto, making his own pleasure well known. He was relentless in his assault, clutching her thighs tightly as he sated his thirst.

"Oh Gawd, oh Gawd, oh Gawd," she uttered hoarsely, thrashing to and fro as rapture was finally urged to freedom. She felt as if she were glowing as brightly as the gold pieces in the tropic sun as colors washed over her like rainbows, her muscles tensing and giving the ultimate relax and fulfillment. The waves crested and broke over her body, unloosing her climax into his waiting mouth. He took his time in sampling the result of her culmination as her breath reluctantly calmed, awaiting his next ruttish, lascivious onslaught.

Foster kissed her mouth passionately, bruising her already pleasantly swollen lips, his tongue still wet with her own juices as it penetrated softly the sweetness of her buss. She stretched languorously as he sidled off of the bedstead, grunting as she declared, "Fuck! You are... **really** good at that!"

"Experience, m'dear," he laughed crisply. "Experience." He raised a bushy eyebrow as he gazed at her sidelong, "Not like some of the young bucks you've no doubt encountered." Troy had to chew upon her lip to keep from giggling, though the giddy sound bubbled in her throat unheard; he couldn't have been more transparent if he had tried. She knew precisely to whom he was referring: a certain young lieutenant with a quite unfortunate name.

'Mmm,' she thought, and then, "Mmm," she uttered, propping herself up on her elbow. Dready, oh her beautiful, indecent Dready. Love, she mused, wriggling her toes, was a very foolish endeavor indeed and she adored it! Just as she adored knowing exactly the right areas of Captain's Foster's ego to press and how hard. "Of course," she continued innocently, "there is always the issue of...," she put on her most flippant air, "stamina."

Dreadnought looked so comically affronted Troy wanted to laugh. ‘Got it in one,’ she thought, pleased with herself. At some point she must have dozed a little for though her skin was still prickling with delectation she could see that Foster was now in a far more advanced state of undress than he was last she looked upon him. Good merciful Gawd but she loved his naked body! What he lacked in the vertical, he more than made up for with his broad, barrel-like chest. Large, corded muscles were complemented by his bronzed flesh and the dense and inviting black fur that adorned his sinewy brawn. The hair ran across his flat, tight stomach and down his solid thigh, encircling what had to be one of the finest pricks in His Majesty's service. She was sure that a finer set of balls had yet to be fired from any of the Royal Navy's weapons--the man made ones, at least. Sometimes, she did wonder if it was truly in fact his ship that leant to him his nickname and not other...attributes.

His privates were a delicious reflection of the rest of his physique: in its rather patriotic state of full salute, it was not overly tall but more than made up for that deficiency with its impressive girth; the satin smooth skin was pulled tightly now against the veined shaft, revealing, in all its glory, the jeweled crown: large and red as a ruby, plump and ripe as a plum. The pendulous sac that dangled heavily behind the erect phallus was likewise nestled with raven hair and tautened with his arousal. It shook a little, quivering as his cock bobbed slightly along with the rest of himself in his rising vexation.

"Stamina?!" he stated bluffly in his brusque Scots' accent. He scoffed. "I've more stamina in my little toe than those daft, untested lads of lesser age, girlie! They'd shoot off at the mere sight of the curve of a woman's breast let alone hold out during a good rogering! I ought to take you across me knee and teach you otherwise!"

"I wouldn't object," she said mischievously, rolling onto her stomach. The gentle sea air felt good caressing her bared thighs but not as good as his warm hands would. He caught her ankle briefly but to her surprise, only gave it a small squeeze, twisting it slightly and then letting go almost immediately. Hmm, what could the rollicking little devil be up to now? She tucked her face into the crook of her shoulder and instantly noticed that he had retrieved the half of a banana from his davenport and when she tried to move, she felt his forceful hands holding her down against the sheets.

"Are you intending to do what I reckon you're intending to do, you monstrous cad?!" she giggled a bit at the magnificent naughtiness of the suspected act.

"You know," he breathed throatily into her ear, his hot breath blowing her wispy brown hair in puffs, "I wouldn't at all be surprised." And to illustrate his point, she felt his fingers prying the trim flesh of her legs apart, their tips teasing the moist curls at the juncture between her thighs. She felt it first graze her buttocks before nestling into her mossy notch; she gasped, the sensation of the fruit's cool, delicate meat against her burning nether lips making her cry out. It penetrated her smoothly as she gasped, spreading herself further open for him. Was he watching? Were his eyes transfixed on the yellow, curved column as he moved it in and out of her, drenching it in her own slickness. She could just imagine the scintillation in his dark gaze spellbound by the spectacle.

He brought her closer and closer to delightful satisfaction, making sure the tip of the banana grazed every scrumptious nerve running along her pink sheath. As he immersed it into her hungry cleft, into her avaricious burrow relentlessly her panting, her wordless exclamations of pleasure, escalated. Suddenly, he removed the fruit and, turning her onto her back as he balanced himself above her, placed it between his lips, suckling upon it, savoring the flavor.

Grasping it with his teeth, he lowered his mouth to hers; the tip of the banana slid betwixt her lips and she too tasted it before the kiss deepened and he consumed her mouth as well as what remained of the fruit. He was pulling off her shirt, the last of her clothing and he turned his osculation to the flush knots at the summit of each small breast, nursing firmly, tugging at the nub with his bite.

"Stamina, you say," he murmured against the modest mound of flesh. "You are about to learn of stamina from a master, my little pirate lass."

He continued to devour her hillocks as he guided his eager pego to her promise of ecstasy. He got a firm hold on her waist and pulled her up into his lap as he kneeled upon the blankets and, in doing so, urged his fleshed steel up into her oiled slit. Despite the lubrication, he had to exert force to enter her narrow feminine liar, such was the massive width of his instrument.

She gave a strangled moan as he snuggled the entire of his fat member within her sensitive, tender hollow. Wrapping her knees tightly around his strapping waist, she could feel the burgeoning head burrowing inside her, stretching the slick bulwarks of her sex to their limit. Good Gawd but she was snug, wringing his responsive manhood like a well-trained hand. He drew her close to him as she threw her arms around his wide shoulders. He rejoiced proudly at the effect his cock had on her as he let her body adjust to his fierce invasion, even as he savored his own gratification at the sensation of her taut, constricting cunny.

Wildly, she began heaving her bottom, moving her hips up and down on his proud penis, relishing the slight resistance, the friction of their joining. "Oh," she groaned, jouncing in his lap, and again, "Oh, Oh, OOOOH!" He filled her so splendidly, expanded her yielding sweetness within. She closed her eyes, her reeling mind swooning with pleasure at his voluptuous delving; orgasm was coming fast.

His rugged hands slowed her savage movements and he chuckled in her ear, "You were talking of stamina, my pirate lass?" He bent her backwards then, her back arching, offering up her breasts to him as if in reverence, her knees still firmly fastened around his waist. His fingertips caressed her stomach as he commenced his brutal assault, thrusting his hips barbarously as he pulled his dick to her secure threshold and lunged back in to his roots. She writhed before him, prostrate to him as he fucked her severely, demandingly. He pinched the solid buds of her nipples between his nimble fingers as she essentially wept with joy. Her body was aflame with rapture, begging for more even as she tumbled once again towards the abyss of consummation. Again, he ceased the intensity of their actions; again, he stole away her climax.

She protested inarticulately, balling the bedcovers in her fists, crying out as he remained securely encased in her. It was such wondrous torture, the game he was playing with her; she made a mental note to question her lovers' endurance more often, though she doubted many could live up to the standard Roger was setting. She was quivering from head to foot, uttering ferocious sounds. The heat of his mouth was on her chest again, his tongue rolling about the aureole as the tip lapped hotly at the risen stub of her mamillae. His arms swooped smoothly beneath the curve of her back and raised her up. She felt his hairy thigh slide under one of her legs as he took position behind her and she reached out with her hands, feeling the cool, sleek moulding at the head of the berth below her palms, bracing herself against it.

She was on her knees with Dreadnought still clutched in her womanhood, Foster aft of her, taking up the rear, as it were. He kissed her shoulder, cupping her diminutive bosoms as the ravishment, his beastly siege, resumed. His fingers found the jut within her nectarous cleft and squeezed, embracing it with his touch until she could no longer distinguish between the varieties of ecstasy she was experiencing. His plump shaft made its charge again and again, the embonpoint sac of his scrotum stroking the burning lips of her seat so tantalizingly as he pushed his way inside repeatedly. His hand was flooded with her cream as she could hold out no longer and came, her wetness covering his cock and thighs with its briny slickness.

At long last, he unleashed his own fulfillment, spilling with potent strength his sticky seed. Spout after spout he pumped into her womb, mixing his spending with hers as it overflowed from him. They collapsed, a sweaty tangle of limbs, mouths and private parts. He was kissing her, nibbling upon her bottom lip as they both drifted off into exhausted and blissful slumber.

She woke again some time before dawn, though she had slept long enough for the candles all to have dwindled down to nothing, until they had snuffed themselves out in their own melting wax. Roger's breathing was ragged in her ear, his hand running circles around her belly. He was perfectly awake and quite ready for more; once more she marveled at his vitality: had he slept at all or had he laid vigilant and watchful, awaiting her awakening with ardent hands and enthusiastic prick. She wouldn’t have put it past him. She reached to wipe the sleep from her eyes and realized that her hands had been tied with his neckerchief so some part or another of his bunk.

"Surprise," he laughed huskily, placing a finger against her lips before claiming them with his mouth.

Her body swelled against him like a breaker as his breath scorched its way down her naked flesh, stopping briefly to tickle her nipples and dip into her navel. Once more he dived his tongue into her trembling womanhood as if it were an over-spilling chalice of warm mead, and he drank her as lustily. She felt the bulging tip of his manly stem replace his mouth, boldly plough forward. He reminded her of an animal as he took his place above her on his hands and knees and mated his burly physique to hers.

She was helpless to stop him--as if she would--powerless to escape as he forced his eager pego, still greased with her dew, betwixt her lips. She ran her tongue along the pommel, swirling it around the juicy skin, suckling him from crown to hilt, taking him all the way into her throat with a small, imperceptible gulp. He was fragranced with the scent of perspiration and sex as well as his own spicy, male tang; he tasted potently of it too, and she relished his flavor with seductive enjoyment. She moved with his rhythm as his hips started to proceed in a circular motion, covetously consuming him. When he came, she gluttonously nursed every last drop of his sperm from the large tip, licking up the excess that spilled over from the corners of her mouth and dribbled down her chin.

He took her two more times before complete fatigue got the better part of him. Oh, she was delightfully, deliciously sore and knew that it would take her some time to walk in a straight line again but, bugger her, was it worth it! Her legs were drenched in his semen, her moist canal blushing with it and she could see his saliva on her glistening. He was panting as he rested his cheek against her shoulder after untying her, his face was flushed with exertion and the mysterious scar running along the side of his roughly handsome visage was aglow. They settled back onto the pillows together, forgoing the blankets as their bodies shimmered in the moonlight, radiating the passion of their lovemaking.

Softly, she kissed his brow, petting the fur upon his heaving chest and around his weary masculine extremity. "Stamina fears you, Dready," she said playfully, snuggling into the feather tick of his bedstead. "It hears your name and trembles before you!" He chuckled, pressing his lips to her breasts. Sleep was more insistent this time around, and they fell into it deeply, all of their aches agreeable and welcome.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mr. Welles woke with a jolt, a hand placed over his mouth suppressing any sound of surprise or alarm he might make. He stared uncomprehending for a moment, a little of his drunkenness clinging to his perception, at his captain's face looming above him as she put a finger to her lips, signaling him to remain silent. The tropic sky was only just beginning its ascent into light, rosy and golden fingers stretching out from the horizon to grasp the purple dawning clouds.

"We sail at once, Mr. Welles," she rasped authoritatively. "Get these besotted dogs up this instant and do it quickly and quietly." She nodded towards the Dreadnought, "I mean to lose our nursemaids before noonday once and for all."

"Aye, aye," he laughed, knuckling his forehead, "Captain!" He got to his feet, staggered for a moment and began nudging the crew, most of whom had fallen asleep in their inebriated state upon the deck. "Up, up, you scabrous hounds! We have our orders from the captain!"

Troy gazed out across the deep azure water illuminated with the colors of dayspring and the exotic fish shimmering near the surface only to dive deeper and disappear. The Dreadnought sat in the far distance, just rousing to the fact, she imagined, that they had misplaced the ship they were meant to escort; she chuckled, envisaging Foster's ire. "The gold, captain? The haul?" Mr. Welles inquired, coming up behind his commander.

"Taken care of, Mr. Welles," she answered unwaveringly, unable to hide her pleased little smile. Horatio jumped up onto her shoulder and began twittering and chirping as if he were laughing, pointing a slender finger at the vessel quickly fading from view as he jumped up and down in his taunting cheerfulness. Troy chirruped and cut a wedge with her sharp dagger from the apple she was holding and passing it to her little friend.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"The bitch!" Foster swore, "Of all the conniving, scheming...I'll murder her! Hang her myself!" He had to grin in spite of himself--and out of the sight of his ship's company, naturally--for on his desk she had left one banana, one gold piece, the tankard she had used to spill drink down the front of her shirt and a note saying only 'Here's to fine Spanish rum, fine company, and the stamina of Captain Roger Foster.'

"You can thank me," he barked a laugh, feeling his groin tighten splendidly at the thought, "When next we meet, Captain Alleyn, you can wager on that." And Dreadnought Foster never lost a bet.  
The End


End file.
